it's a mingle, a paisley mingle

[timelapsed]

Who: Paisley crew and/or visitors and/or Chloe
Broadcast: N/A
Action: The Paisley
When: Anytime in March p much

[ Welcome to the Paisley, where the drama's made up and the points don't matter ]

Comments

[reek]

[ It's the truth. It takes something horrible, twisted and black to make a man desperate enough to want to kill. Theon's felt it himself, and he doesn't want to feel it again.

He squares his jaw and grits his teeth more tightly. He angles his head ever so slightly away from the cold touch of the knife, but knowing that the cracks are beginning to show in his carefully constructed armor is more mortifying than any blade. If this man and Tyrion Lannister can see through him so easily, who will see the true Theon Greyjoy next? ]

Enough.

[ His anger is enough to keep some semblance of forcefulness in his voice, but there is a slight tone of desperation underneath it all. Threats are one thing, but being forced to face the truth is another. What he really wants is for Loki to stop talking. ]

Stand down. They should cut your tongue out instead.

[ See, it's ironic because Theon can't stop talking either. ]

[complicatedliar]

[He laughs softly in Theon's ear.]

Hiss, little cat. Hiss. You've soft teeth and no bite for all that noise.

Dream of cutting out my tongue, but the words will remain, imprinted in the shriveled, quailing pip that you so loudly proclaim is a heart. You are hollow, just like your protestations.

[reek]

I said enough.

[ He hisses his words, trying to put all his malice into them without even realizing that he's only playing into the spitting cat comparison. ]

I won't need to dream of it. I'll cut out your tongue myself here and now if it will stop your insipid talking.

[ Threats without action. He still hasn't decided how he wants to get himself out of this. ]

[complicatedliar]

[A soft chuckle.]

Oho, it thinks it has teeth. [So cute. He gives Theon a little shake as if to remind him, oh you silly little thing, your feet don't even touch the ground right now.] Go ahead. I'll wait.

[He'd be tempted to lick Theon, really, but ugh, humans. You don't know where these things have been.]

[reek]

[ It's true, this is a precarious position. There's a lot Theon can say, but not necessarily much he can do.

What he can do is roll his eyes and force out a huff of a laugh. He can do a whole lot of that. So long as no one is licking him, he's fine. ]

You've demoted yourself to waiting? Have you spewed all the words you can?

[ Dig that grave deeper, Theon. ]

[complicatedliar]

Oh Theon, Theon, Theon. No matter how you shout, you shan't change the fact that I have seen how empty you are inside.

But you are right. I do have better things to do with my time.

[He slams Theon against the wall and pins him with one arm, still holding him off the ground, elbow threatening the windpipe. He nimbly rolls his grip on the dagger and then brings it in close toward Theon's eye.]

A wise man would hold still. As you aren't wise, decide how badly you wish your face to bleed.

[He's a delicate enough touch that he won't cut Theon if he doesn't want to--and he doesn't currently. What he does want to do it shave Theon's left eyebrow off.]

[reek]

[ Theon grits his teeth so hard that they could crack given much more pressure. His smile has fled, and his laughter along with it, leaving nothing but a grimace of pain.

He is not a wise man, as his choice to keep talking makes perfectly clear, but he is wise enough to know when not to move, lest he wind up looking more like his uncle than he ever cared to. ]

Fine.

[ He snaps, but stares at the knife and continues to keep very still. It isn't surrender. He just has to keep telling himself that. I may lose an eye, but this is not surrender. ]

Do what you intend to do and go spend your time in a more constructive manner.

THEON STAHP

[complicatedliar]

[He says these things like he wants to believe he has some choice. That's really all it is, the sad attempt to ape control of a life that has no control.

Chuckling to himself, Loki dry shaves that left eyebrow off. Enjoy the razor burn, kid.

Into Theon's ear:] Howl, little pup. Only one who has never known a moment of control over his own pathetic life would think a big noise is what keeps the chilling darkness at bay.

[And the breath he exhales over Theon's ear is absolutely frigid for a moment, like the north wind. He kisses Theon on the cheek, and his lips burn with frost.] Sleep well, in the uncaring dark.

[And then he vanishes, leaving Theon to drop to the floor, minus an eyebrow.]